My Incorporeal Inconvenience
by Nameless Boast
Summary: "Goten," Trunks began awkwardly. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but you're dead." Goten shrugged. "Yeah, that's what I told King Yemma." When Trunks is haunted by Goten's ghost, he must determine why his best friend cannot move on to the afterlife.
1. Chapter 1

It was very, very important to Trunks that the people around him understand that, despite what they may have thought, he was perfectly fine.

After all, it wasn't as though he had anything to be upset about. It wasn't as though Trunks had just lost someone important to him. It wasn't as though his 15-year-old best friend had recently become horribly ill. It wasn't as though his best friend's had suddenly developed a heart condition, one that left him wracked with pain as his systems started to fail. It wasn't as though that same best friend had struggled and suffered for just over a week before finally giving in.

It wasn't as if Goten had died. It wasn't as if Trunks had watched it happen.

And even if all that _had_ happened, it wouldn't be something to get worked up over. It certainly wouldn't be something Trunks couldn't handle.

And sure, Trunks had found himself zoning out at the oddest times as of late; and maybe he found himself losing his temper over the slightest provocation, such as misplacing his pen, or his computer freezing for approximately thirty seconds, or the poor cashier at the school bookstore that had dared miscount his change and give him back ten zeni _more_ than she was supposed to; and it was _possible_ that he had woken up several mornings over the course of the past month to find tears staining his face, and on occasion he would even start quietly crying when he was awake, only to stop crying when he inevitably realized that it wasn't helping in the slightest, at which point he would sit and stare at the wall for god-knew-how-long and silently beg the powers that be to please please _please_ let him wake up from this awful nightmare, to bring his best friend back, or at least let him see Goten alive and healthy _just one more time_—

But none of that mattered, because he was fine. He was fine when Goten died. He was fine at the funeral. And he was fine now, nearly one month after Goten's death.

Trunks was so fine, in fact, that he didn't skip dinner because he just couldn't bring himself to eat anything, as he'd done so often over the past few weeks. He didn't lie on his bed and gaze at the ceiling of his bedroom for hours, waiting for it to divine him some sort of answer to a question he didn't even know how to ask. He didn't wonder what Goten would say to him in this situation, only to feel his throat tighten up once more as he remembered for the hundredth time that he'd never hear Goten say _anything _again. He didn't keep staring at the ceiling as he fought back tears, if only because he had gotten _so fucking sick_ of crying. He didn't allow his to eyes slip shut after several minutes of this, because keeping himself from crying had drained what little energy he had. And he did not fall asleep still dressed in his jeans and a t-shirt, because he just couldn't see the purpose in getting undressed.

Trunks was not mourning. He was not grieving, he was not playing over the days leading up to Goten's death in his mind, and he certainly was not depressed.

Because Trunks was perfectly, completely, undeniably, undoubtedly, unquestionably fine. And damned be anyone who thought otherwise.

* * *

><p>"Miss me?"<p>

Trunks opened the heavy mahogany door, poking his head into the large office. Behind a desk made of precisely the same shade of mahogany sat an attractive, neatly dressed woman in her late forties. She was slender, with pale skin and shoulder-length hair that couldn't quite decide whether it was a silver-grey or a pale blonde. Either way, it suited her sharp green eyes and gracefully aging features marvelously.

The woman raised a single pale eyebrow up toward her hairline as the youth entered her office. "Well, I'd have to go a while without seeing you in order to miss you, wouldn't I, Mister Briefs?"

"Oh, Lilla," Trunks said dramatically as he closed the door behind him and took the seat across from her desk. "I know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I just can't stand being away from you."

"Please, Mister Briefs, just call me Principal Taishin." She sighed, turning to her computer screen to bring up Trunks' personal file. "So, which class were you terrorizing today? Robotics?"

"Come on, Lilla—Principal, you know my schedule better than that."

"Ah yes. Well, it's fourth period. So chemistry."

"Exactly." Trunks gave Ms. Taishin a self-satisfied smile. He had been attending The West City Academy for Gifted Youth for just over two years, over which time he'd struck up quite the rapport with the school's beleaguered principal. At least, Trunks would insist they had a rapport; Ms. Taishin would respond that the only reason the boy had yet to be thrown out of the elite institution was because of his spectacular test scores and consistently perfect grades.

The Academy was one of the most exclusive secondary education institutions in the region, and ran two parallel educational tracks. Approximately half the students were tracked to the school's prestigious arts curriculum, while the other half comprised its intensive science program. A courseload that included three separate science classes as well as advanced mathematics would provide a challenge to most students, even brighter-than-average ones. But Trunks was not most students.

Trunks liked school. School was easy; math and science came naturally to him, and he had no trouble keeping up with the material in his history and literature classes. He had grown especially fond of the place in the past month. And while Trunks would insist that he was fine, that he was not mourning, nor grieving, nor depressed, nor any of another multitude of synonyms for "sad," he would—if pressed—admit that school may have been the only thing keeping him sane.

He was simply returning the favor by making it a slightly more interesting place to be.

"What did you do this time?" Principal Taishin asked, scanning the young heir's long disciplinary file. "Replace the saline with vinegar again?" That particular stunt hadn't caused any injuries-at least, no serious ones-but the stench had taken the better part of a week to clear out.

"Dear Principal, I never repeat myself." The demi-Saiyan's grin widened. "Rigged all the sinks to release party foam instead of water." It wasn't his fault his humorless chemistry teacher couldn't appreciate his efforts to make class slightly more festive.

Principal Taishin sighed again, turning back to the teenager. "I can't imagine what you'd accomplish if you used your talents for good instead of evil."

"Well, my mom and granddad beat me to all the good inventions."

The principal folded her hands on her desk, frowning at the boy. "Speaking of. I just got off the phone with your mother."

Trunks' eyes widened in response. "You called her over a little bit of foam on the classroom floor?"

"I called her because you've been acting out more than usual lately."

Trunks shrugged. "I just so cherish our meetings."

Ms. Taishin's expression softened slightly as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Trunks, we need to discuss your attendance record."

The remaining traces of his smile dropped from Trunks' face. "What are you talking about? I haven't missed a single day this term."

"Precisely." She looked down at the notebook on her desk. "Your mother informed me that on the afternoon of Sunday, September 12th, a very close friend of yours passed away."

Trunks startled up in his chair. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"At 8 a.m. on Monday, September 13th, you arrived here for a multivariable calculus exam."

Trunks crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Which I aced."

"That isn't the point." She stared the boy down for a few moments. He returned her gaze, trying to ignore his mounting discomfort.

"You have two options, Trunks," she said sternly after several long moments of silence. "You can either take a leave of absence from school—which no one would blame you for—or you can get your behavior under control. But I won't have you using my staff as the targets of your misplaced anger."

"I don't _have _any misplaced anger."

"You made Mimi cry when she gave you fifty-seven zeni in change instead of forty-seven."

"This a school for gifted students. I'm just offended by bad arithmetic."

The principle mumbled something inaudible in reply as she placed the notebook back in her desk drawer.

"Look, Lilla, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine." Trunks rose from his chair. "So what's my punishment for the foam?"

"Detention this afternoon, my office, two hours."

Trunks' smile returned to his face. "Two hours with you? That hardly seems like punishment, Principal."

"_Followed_ by your cleaning up the entire chemistry lab."

Trunks rose from the chair, placing his backpack on one shoulder. "You're tough but fair, Lilla. Tough but fair." With that, he made his way out of the office, gently shutting her door behind him as he left.

Principal Taishin placed the tips of her long fingers on her temples, pressing down in an attempt to relieve the pounding that had suddenly appeared there. "One of these days, that boy is either going to end up saving the world or destroying it."

* * *

><p>It was nearly seven in the evening by the time Trunks arrived home. His detention session had run its allotted two hours—during which he was ordered, on pain of suspension, to sit silently and face the wall as Ms. Taishin went through some paperwork—and cleaning the lab had taken longer than he'd expected. The task could have been completed in mere minutes had he been able to work at full speed, but his chemistry teacher had insisted on supervising the whole time.<p>

When he had asked Mr. Saito why he didn't seem to trust him—all the while giving the older man the most innocent, wide-eyed expression he could muster—the chemistry professor had simply glared and handed him a bucket and a stack of rags. And so Trunks had spent more than two hours on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the floor and getting quite soaked in the process. Despite the mild October weather, he had shivered through the half-mile walk home.

Trunks slipped off his drenched sneakers as he stepped into the house, glad to be relieved of the uncomfortable sloshing beneath his feet. He was by the stairs to his bedroom when he heard a familiar voice call him.

"Trunks?" Trunks spun around on one heel to see his mother seated on the couch of the large living room.

"You're home late," Bulma continued, setting down the stack of paper she had been working on. "And why are you all wet?"

"I decided it was such a nice day, I just had to go for a swim. In my clothes."

"Can you go ten seconds without being sarcastic?"

Trunks looked down at his watch. "Ten, nine—"

"Oh, never mind," his mother interrupted with a glare. "Listen, I spoke to your principal today."

"So she mentioned," Trunks said, dropping his backpack at the foot of the stairs. "Why would you tell her about Goten?"

"It wouldn't have come up at all if you didn't insist on doing things like hacking the PA system in the teacher's lounge."

"It's not my fault Ms. Lindao can't appreciate the lovely mating cry of the wildebeest." Trunks shrugged. "Miscalculation on my part. I thought a biologist would enjoy the calls of nature."

"You're hopeless."

Trunks shot her a grin, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's why you love me."

Bulma stared down her son for a few moments before sighing. "Well, dinner's ready," she said with a soft sigh. "Come eat."

"I'll take a plate up to my room. Got a lot of homework to get done."

"It's Friday."

"There's a lot to do."

"Trunks . . ." Bulma trailed off, shooting the teenager a pleading look.

"Mom, I'm _fine_. Really."

"Sweetheart, you went to class less than a day after Goten died. You're either in school or holed up in your room. This isn't healthy."

"Can we _please_ stop talking about this?"

"You never want to talk about it."

"Exactly."

"Honey," Bulma said gently, "you know you don't have to pretend with me."

"I'm not pretending." When his mother shot him an incredulous look, he continued. "Look, I'm not denying that I miss him. I miss him a lot." Trunks folded his arms, breaking eye contact. "More than a lot. But I'm dealing."

"You know there's nothing you could have done."

"I'm _dealing_," Trunks insisted, turning back to his mother.

Bulma shook her head in resignation. "I'll fix you a plate."

* * *

><p>Trunks ripped the sheet of paper out of his notebook, tossing it into the trashcan on his floor. Robotics didn't usually pose much of a challenge for him, but this inverse kinematics assignment was an unusually complex one. The problems weren't especially difficult, but a single mistake early in his calculations would throw all his subsequent work into chaos.<p>

He shoved his cold, largely uneaten dinner aside as he restarted his homework on a fresh sheet of lined paper. His ears perked up as he heard an odd rustling behind him. He paused for a moment before chalking the noise up to the wind. He frowned, turning back a few pages in his robotics textbook to look up a particular equation.

"That looks complicated."

Trunks startled up in his chair, dropping his pencil onto his desk. Several seconds passed before he sighed, letting his eyes fall back down to his textbook.

"Great," Trunks said to himself. "Now I'm hearing his voice. That's reassuring."

"I'd hope you'd hear me," came the response. "Seeing as I'm talking to you."

Trunks' eyes widened. Slowly and carefully, he stood from his chair, pushing it to one side. Gripping the edge of his desk with one hand for balance, he turned around. There, on the floor mere feet in front of him, stood a teenage boy with shaggy, spiky black hair and wide black eyes. That all-too-familiar face was bearing an all-too-familiar smile.

"Um . . ." the boy trailed off as he stared back at Trunks. "Boo?"

The last thing Trunks saw before he hit the floor was a very sheepish grin on his very dead best friend's face.


	2. Chapter 2

Trunks groaned as he opened his eyes. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to the floor, and it was hard and uncomfortable beneath his aching back and his sore head. Slowly, his vision came into focus. Moments later, he found himself looking into a pair of wide, beguilingly innocent black eyes.

"Are you okay?"

A shudder tore through Trunks' body as he found himself once again looking into Goten's face. He stared, willing the image of his best friend to vanish into the ether where it belonged. He closed his eyes for a few moments, only to find Goten still very much standing over him when he reopened them.

Trunks half expected a lump to form in his throat, or tears to well in his eyes, but neither came. Instead, he found himself feeling strangely calm as he finally responded, "I'm hallucinating."

"Well," Trunks' hallucination replied, "if you are, then so am I."

"Goten," Trunks began awkwardly, propping himself up on his arms and addressing what he was fairly certain couldn't _actually_ be his friend. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but you're dead."

"Yeah, that's what I told King Yemma," this not-Goten said with a shrug. "But he said I had some unfinished business. So he sent me off as a ghost back here."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at the apparition standing before him. "What kind of unfinished business?"

"He didn't say. Only that I'd know it when I knew it."

"That's helpful." Trunks rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head where he'd hit the floor with one hand before reaching his other hand up toward Goten's form. "Help me up, asshole."

"Sorry, I can't," Goten said. He reached his own hand toward Trunks' outstretched one. Trunks watched with an almost morbid curiosity as it seamlessly phased through his own hand, seemingly coming out the other side whole. "No body."

Trunks frowned. "You _look_ solid."

"Yeah, I feel solid too." Goten clapped his hands to demonstrate; the sound echoed throughout Trunks' bedroom. "But I can't actually touch anything."

"If you don't have a body, then how are you standing on the floor?"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm just floating so that it _looks_ like I'm standing. See?" Without warning, Goten sank a few inches into the floor. "But I thought that would look creepy."

"It does," Trunks agreed, his gaze now fixed on the carpet surrounding Goten's disembodied ankles. "Now please stop doing that." Trunks managed to pull himself up from the floor, standing again on his own two feet. "Though this does help prove my you-are-a-hallucination theory."

Goten frowned at his friend. "But I'm not a hallucination. I'm Goten."

"Suuuure you are," Trunks said, rolling his eyes in condescension at the image of what was once his best friend. "And you'll be gone in the morning when I wake up, right?"

Goten folded his arms and pouted. "Trunks, you're an alien prince who's died and come back to life before. Why is it so hard to believe that I'm a ghost?"

"Ignoring you now."

"Come on," Goten's voice—or, rather, the echo of Goten's voice that Trunks' mind had reconstructed—began. "Don't do that. I don't even know if anyone else can see or hear me."

"Well, that would also seem to support my hallucination theory."

"Trunks," the apparition almost whined. "This isn't fair. How can I prove I'm actually me?"

"Other than getting your body back and actually interacting with the world?" Trunks rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Honestly, leave me alone while I get some sleep. We can talk in the morning after I've had a chance to un-hallucinate you."

Goten's pout deepened. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Can you sleep?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, amuse yourself. Find something to do while I'm sleeping. If you're still here tomorrow morning, we can discuss what to do next."

Goten's pout dropped away as a hopeful smile came over his face. "So you're going to help me figure out what my 'unfinished business' is?"

"Either that, or I will get myself to a psychiatric ward," Trunks said nonchalantly. "Now kindly leave me and my grief-addled brain to get some rest."

Goten nodded, levitating off the floor and moving toward Trunks' bedroom wall. Trunks watched intently as the apparition phased its way through his wall into the large, enclosed courtyard outside the house. After a few moments of staring at the spot where Goten had stood, Trunks peeled off his jeans and t-shirt, climbing into bed dressed in nothing more than his boxers.

"I'm going to sleep this off," he assured himself aloud. "And tomorrow morning, he'll be gone like a proper dead person."

* * *

><p>Trunks' eyes opened as the morning light beamed into his bedroom. He sat up, slowly, his mind reconstructing the events of the previous night. As he looked around his bedroom, he saw his open robotics textbook and uneaten dinner still sitting on his desk, and felt the bump that had formed on the back of his head where he'd hit the floor.<p>

But there was no Goten.

Trunks let out a small sigh of relief, tempered by a twinge of disappointment. "Guess it was my imagination," he muttered to himself, tossing off his covers and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He took in a deep breath, taking in the sight of his shaking hands as they rest in his lap. Trunks closed his eyes for a moment. "Come on, Trunks," he murmured to himself. "Keep it together. Goten's dead." His voice sounded oddly level to his own ears. "Dead and gone."

"Morning."

"_Gah!_" Trunks' eyes snapped open as he toppled to the floor. He turned, gripping the mattress with both hands as he dared to peek over the edge of his bed. His eyes widened to the size of saucers when he saw Goten standing in front of his bedroom window.

"You're still here."

"Yep!" Goten said brightly. "Now do you believe I'm real?"

"Either that, or my psychotic brain is more persistent than I thought." Trunks pulled himself up, holding onto the bed to steady his trembling body.

Goten's face fell into a soft frown. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, just great." Trunks blinked several times, but Goten's image refused to vanish. "Just seeing my dead best friend in my bedroom. Nothing wrong here!"

"Sorry," Goten said with a slight wince. "Want me to come back later?"

"No, I do not want you to come back later!" Trunks buried his face in his hands, sitting on his bed again as he took a few deep breaths. "I'm losing it."

Goten had the good sense to remain silent as Trunks got his rapid breathing under control. After several minutes, Trunks removed his hands from his face and spoke again. "Let's just suppose, for one moment, that I'm not going insane," he said, turning to Goten once more. "Let's suppose you're real. What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's like I said," Goten explained. "I have some unfinished business and King Yemma won't tell me what it is."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"I don't know. One minute I'm hanging out in the Otherworld, the next I'm back at King Yemma's place, and then I'm in your room. He didn't explain where he was sending me."

"You know you've been dead for almost a month, right?"

"Seriously?" Goten rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Man, I know Dad said that time moves differently in the Otherworld, but this is insane."

"Yeah, _that's_ the insane part. The fact that it's been a month. Not the fact that you're, you know, a ghost."

Before Goten could respond, Trunks heard a loud knocking on his bedroom door. He turned to see Bulma open the door and peek into his room.

"Sweetheart?" Bulma said, looking concerned as she stepped into the bedroom. "Were you talking to yourself?"

Trunks turned to his mother, still perched on the edge of his bed. "Do you see anyone else here?" The query was only half sarcastic.

Bulma narrowed her eyes at her son. "Don't get smart with me, young man."

"Right," Trunks mumbled. "Sorry."

Goten apparently had the same thought. "Guess you _are_ the only one that can see me."

"I guess so," said Trunks.

"What was that?" asked Bulma.

"Nothing, nothing," Trunks insisted.

Bulma shook her head, her irritated frown falling into an expression of concern. "Honey, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Trunks said, standing from his bed. "What's going on?"

"Well, something's come up at corporate headquarters, so I need you to watch Bra for the day. You're taking her to the park in half an hour."

Trunks spared a glance at Goten's ghost. The ghost shrugged unhelpfully.

"Uh," Trunks began, "I'm a little tied up today."

Bulma raised a single eyebrow. "With what?"

Trunks scrambled for an excuse. "Um, homework?"

Bulma again frowned at the boy. "Your homework never takes you that long. You can do it when you get back."

"But—"

"No buts, young man. You're on babysitting duty, and that's final. Besides, it'll be good for you to get out of the house."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "That's what school is for."

"I'm not arguing with you, Trunks." She folded her arms, while her tone made it clear that she would brook no excuses. "I'm not going to let you sit around in your room all day. Now get dressed." With that, Bulma strode out of Trunks' bedroom, shutting the door behind her as she left.

"Ah, damnit." Trunks ran one hand through his uncombed hair. "Looks like I'm stuck."

"I thought you were going to help me," said Goten.

"Well, it's not like I can explain to my mom that I'm busy being haunted by you. She'll have me institutionalized." With that, Trunks walked over to his closet and began digging through his wardrobe.

Goten watched silently as Trunks pulled a pair of worn-in jeans from his closet. Trunks put them on quickly before realizing that they were uncomfortably loose. He slipped them off, grabbing another pair only to find it equally baggy. He frowned as he began digging through the back of his closet for a belt.

Goten spoke again after a few moments. "Have you lost weight?"

"No," said Trunks, without looking at this ghostly friend.

"Are you sure?" Goten asked. "Because you look really skinny right now."

"I'm fine," Trunks muttered. He glowered at his waistband as he slipped on a simple black belt. The tightest belt notch was still too large for him. He walked over to his desk, grabbing a pair of scissor to punch a new hole in the leather strap. Several seconds passed before he realized that Goten was still staring at him.

"_What?_" Trunks barked out as he tightened his recently-altered belt.

Goten nodded thoughtfully at his friend. "I think you've lost weight."

"Goten, how about you stop watching me while I get dressed, alright?"

"Like I've never seen you change before."

Trunks glowered at the apparition before tossing the pair of scissors in his hand at Goten's head. Goten did not dodge; instead, the scissors phased through his head, passing through him before bouncing off the wall and landing on the carpet.

"Well, that wasn't very nice," Goten said with a hurt look.

"You don't even have a body. It's not like that could hurt you."

"I know," Goten said quietly, looking away. He remained silent as Trunks dug out a clean t-shirt from his dresser.

Goten waited silently as Trunks went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He spoke up again as Trunks reentered the room. "Hey, Trunks?" he asked hesitantly.

"What?"

"Um, did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Last night," Goten explained. "When you said your brain was 'grief-addled.'"

"Goten, not now," Trunks sighed out. "I need to go watch my sister, alright?"

"Yeah," Goten said sadly. "Right."

"Look," Trunks conceded, "if you really want, you can come with us, okay?"

A smile broke out over Goten's face. "You mean it?"

"Not like I've got much choice in the matter," said Trunks. "If you _are_ a hallucination, you're an awfully stubborn one. Looks like I might just have to see this one through."

Goten nodded enthusiastically. "Works for me."

"Now let's get my little hellion of a sister and take her to the park."

"Hellion?" Goten said, raising one black eyebrow at the other teenager. "She's three. How bad could she possibly be?"

* * *

><p>Trunks scratched at his scalp, trying to shake out the last grains of sand that his baby sister had so graciously decided to bestow upon his head. He had encouraged Bra to interact with the other children, but the little girl was, as usual, more interested in tormenting her big brother. This was why the teenager found himself perched at the edge of the sandbox, digging sand out of his right ear with one finger as the pigtailed child giggled madly at her brother's irate frown.<p>

"Bra," Trunks pleaded, "why can't you play with the other kids for a while?"

Bra's giggles abruptly ceased as she folded her arms, plopping down on the sand. "I don't want to!" Bra glowered in a remarkable impression of her father. "They're dumb!"

"True," Trunks agreed, spitting out a few errant grains of sand. "But you should still learn to play with them."

"Take me flying!" Bra shouted, leaping back up to her feet as clumps of sand fell from her pink overalls.

"Bra," Trunks said in a harsh whisper. "You know I'm not supposed to do that in public."

Bra stomped one foot. "Big brother is mean!" Suddenly, she started flapping her arms and shouting. "Fly, fly, fly away!" Then, with greater speed than any three-year-old should be able to manage, she dashed off toward the jungle gym.

"Bra!" Trunks shouted, running after his sister. He heard Goten trying to stifle a laugh behind him.

"You know," Goten said. "I can't help but think this is some sort of cosmic payback for the crap you pulled on your parents when you were a kid."

"Crap that _I_ pulled?" Trunks said as he caught up with his sister, dragging her off the metal bars before she fell and injured herself. "I seem to recall one incident that ended with fourteen-year-old Gohan curled up under his desk while your pajamas were on fire."

"Yeah, that was a bad idea," Goten admitted.

Bra shot her brother a confused look. "Who're you talking to?"

"No one," Trunks said, setting his sister back on the ground. She ran back toward the sandbox and Trunks wearily followed after her.

"But then, I'm dead," Goten said, continuing his earlier thought. "Maybe that's my cosmic payback?"

"Probably," Trunks sighed. He couldn't muster the energy to be appalled at the joke. "Speaking of divine retribution, are you seriously going to follow me around until I find a way to get you to the afterlife?"

"Got any better ideas?"

"Yeah, find someone else to haunt."

Goten watched his friend thoughtfully as the older boy again took a seat at the edge of the sandbox. "Hey, Trunks?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember that one time with the duck's nest in the gravity room?"

Trunks spared a glance at Goten through the corner of one eye. "You're really never going to let that one go, are you?"

"Trunks, I couldn't eat eggs for _six months_ after that."

Trunks sighed. "What's your point?"

"Well," Goten said cheerfully, "consider this payback."

Trunks had just opened his mouth to respond when he found it filled with a small handful of sand. He sputtered and choked, trying to spit the dirty sand out as his sister's loud giggled again filled the air. He shifted his gaze between his hysterical sister and his ghostly companion before speaking again.

"Whatever I've done to deserve this," Trunks wheezed out between spits, "couldn't possibly be enough."


	3. Chapter 3

Trunks scratched at his right ear, picking out the few remaining grains of sand lodged in there. After a few hours of watching his younger sister, he had finally managed to unload Bra on his mother, freeing up his afternoon to solve the mystery of Goten's sudden appearance. This was what brought him, ghostly companion in tow, to the West City Central Public Library. Normally he wouldn't be caught dead in the place—he far preferred to raid the library in his mother's home office—but he somehow doubted that even Bulma's vast collection would supply the information he was seeking.

"What are we doing here?" Goten asked as Trunks walked toward the large marble steps at the main entrance.

"You want me to help you figure out how to get back to the afterlife, right?" Trunks asked, not bothering to turn toward his floating companion. "Well, I don't really know that much about this supernatural nonsense. So I figure we ought to do some research."

"Why? We've both died before. Remember the whole Buu thing?"

"Believe me, I remember. But we were only dead for a little while. It's not like we had the chance to interview King Yemma about the intricacies of post-mortem soul-placement."

"Yeah, you were too busy swiping his ledger and mixing up all his seals."

Despite himself, Trunks chuckled at that. "That was a fun few hours." He wondered, idly, if the ogre had ever truly forgiven him for the mischief he had wrought during his brief stint in the hereafter.

The teenager stopped dead in his tracks as a horrifying thought entered his mind. Goten continued to float on ahead of him for a few feet before noticing that Trunks had stopped, then turned to face the other teenager. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Something just occurred to me." Trunks blinked a few times, focusing his gaze on Goten's floating frame. "What if King Yemma's just fucking with us?"

"Like, you think he's still mad?" Goten frowned. "Seems like kind of an overreaction, don't you think?"

"Hey, if I had to spend eternity judging the souls of the departed, I'd probably wind up with a sick sense of humor, too."

"Sick_er_."

"Oh, shut up." Trunks shot Goten a glare before walking up the stairs and pushing open the library's large swinging doors. He strode inside, briskly walking over to the main reference desk.

The librarian, a grey-haired, sour-looking woman in her mid-sixties, peered over her glasses at the teenager standing above her. "Can I help you?" Her tone made it obvious that she had no particular interest in being helpful, but was clearly obligated to ask in order to continue drawing a paycheck.

"Yeah," Trunks said, "I'm looking for some resources on, er, ghosts. Wandering spirits, that sort of thing."

"There should be plenty of books on the topic in our mystery and horror sections."

Trunks sighed, his face falling as he struggled with how best to frame his request without sounding completely insane. "I'm, uh, not looking for fiction. I want nonfiction."

The librarian raised one grey eyebrow at him, looking at him incredulously. "We have a small paranormal section. It's at the back end of the reference area." She jotted down a few numbers on a small slip of paper, handing it to Trunks. "The books can be found on these shelves."

"Thanks," Trunks said, shoving the slip of paper in his pocket as he quickly walked away from the librarian's desk before their conversation became yet more uncomfortable.

"She wasn't very friendly," Goten said, following after Trunks. Trunks almost began to chastise Goten to keep his voice down, catching himself mid-breath as he remembered he was the only one who could hear the ghost's voice. Instead, he muttered a soft "yeah" and continued his way toward the paranormal section.

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Goten asked as Trunks began to look over the relevant shelves.

"Not even a little," Trunks admitted in a hushed tone. His eyes quickly scanned the book spines, looking for anything that seemed remotely relevant. He quickly grabbed a few of the most helpful-sounding titles, loading them into his arms before walking over to the circulation desk to check them out.

"Are you really going to read all those?" Goten asked as Trunks walked toward the exit, balancing the books in one arm as he pushed the door open with the other.

"I'll skim them," Trunks muttered as he stepped outside. He quickly walked down the stairs to the main street level, leading Goten down a few blocks to one of the many public parks that littered West City's central district. He dumped the pile of books onto one of the vacant picnic tables, throwing one randomly-selected book open. He quickly scanned the table of contents before flipping to what appeared to be a relevant chapter.

Goten stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the text. "_To the Beyond_?" he asked. "What's that one about?"

"Looks like it's about exorcising errant spirits," Trunks responded, flipping to the next page.

"I'm a ghost," Goten said with a frown. "What do I need with exercise?"

"_Exorcising_, Goten," Trunks said, trying to rein in the exasperation in his voice. "You know, banishing you to the realm hereafter or whatever."

"That doesn't sound good," Goten said worriedly.

"I thought you were trying to get back to the afterlife."

"Yeah, but banishment sounds . . . not fun."

"Because being trapped on earth as an incorporeal spirit is such a carnival." Trunks rolled his eyes before turning to the next page. He shivered as the breeze picked up slightly, ruffling the pages of his book. He continued to read, trying to ignore Goten's presence over his shoulder as he scanned the page for any useful information.

"You read really fast," Goten said, still peering over Trunks' shoulder. "I can't keep up with you."

"Don't bother," Trunks said with another shiver. "None of this seems to be any use so far. This author doesn't know the first thing about being dead."

"Hey," Goten asked, concern suddenly evident in his voice. "Are you feeling okay?"

Trunks turned around in his seat to face Goten. "Yeah, why?"

"You've been shivering since we got out here."

"It's cold," Trunks said dismissively.

"I thought it was warm out."

"How would you know?"

"Well, I'm guessing from the little kids in shorts," Goten said, jutting one thumb toward a group of children playing at the edge of the park. "And the fact that it's sunny."

"Smartass."

"And the fact that the clock tower says the temperature is 24 degrees."

"I get it already," Trunks said irritably, slamming the book shut. "Come on, let's get out of here before anyone sees me talking to myself."

Goten shot Trunks a puzzled look. "But you're talking to me."

"And _I'm_ the only one that can see you."

"Oh yeah," Goten said, a sheepish grin coming over his features. "I guess I keep forgetting that."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "I know you've always been a little slow on the uptake, but this is fucking ridiculous." He ignored Goten's indignant grunt as he suppressed another shiver, loaded his arms up with the books, and began the trek home.

* * *

><p>"This is completely fucking useless." Trunks slammed the last of the books shut, dropping it on the pile of texts he's check out from the library. He threw down his pen, shoving his empty notepad off his desk in disgust.<p>

"Nothing good?" Goten asked. He was sitting cross-legged, floating above Trunks' bed as he watched the older boy pore over the series of books.

"These idiots don't even mention King Yemma or Snake Way." Trunks sighed, letting his head drop to his desk. "I give up for now. We can get back to this in the morning."

"Uh, Trunks?" Goten said sheepishly, pointing one finger toward the digital clock on Trunks' nightstand. "It's already morning."

"What?" Trunks turned around, looking at the clock to find that it read 8:02 a.m. "Aw, fuck," Trunks said with another sigh, running one hand through his hair. "No point going to sleep now."

Goten frowned at him. "Are you sure you're okay? I don't mind waiting while you get some shut-eye."

"I'm used to late nights," Trunks said with a shrug. "I'll be fine."

"So what now?"

"I guess we can return these books to the library. No point holding onto them. Then it's back to square one."

"Great," Goten said with an exasperated sigh. "So we've haven't gotten anywhere."

"First off, it's not like _you_ need sleep. Second, you've only been here a day."

"Still—"

"Goten," Trunks said impatiently, "you've got the rest of eternity to be dead. What difference does it make to you?"

Goten flinched before looking away, casting his gaze to the far corner of the bedroom. "I know I do."

Trunks raised one hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "That was a shitty thing to say." He shook his head, dropping his hand from his face as he stood from his desk chair. "Look, let's just get these books back to the library, then see if we can't find someone who knows about this kind of thing, okay?" Goten nodded silently and followed after as Trunks loaded the books into his backpack, then swung the bag over his shoulder and made his way downstairs.

Trunks was halfway out the door when he heard a gruff voice address him. "Where are you going?"

Trunks turned to see an irritated looking Vegeta standing at one end of the living room, his arms folded as he glowered at his teenage son. "Library. Why?"

"Your little science projects can wait," Vegeta said curtly. "Gravity room. Now."

Trunks' upper lip curled in distaste. "Dad, do we _have_ to do this now?"

"You've been neglecting your training. It's well past time you get back to it."

Trunks practically whined his response. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"_Now._" Without another word, Vegeta turned about and started stalking his way back toward the Gravity Room, clearly expecting Trunks to follow after him.

"Goddamnit," Trunks said, dropping his backpack to a spot on the floor by the door. "His timing is unbelievable."

"He seems grumpier than usual."

"How can you tell?" Trunks said with a scoff. "I'd better catch up with His Royal Grouchiness before he tears me a new one."

"Yeah, sure," Goten said. "I'll just hang out near the roof or something."

"Actually, I'd rather you waited outside the Gravity Room."

"Why?"

"Come on, Goten. It won't take that long."

"I guess," the ghost said, shrugging one shoulder. "Not like I haven't seen Vegeta hand you your ass before."

"Funny," Trunks grumbled, making his way down the long corridor toward the gravity chamber at the back of the house. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving Goten outside the domed chamber.

Only a few moments passed before he heard the whirr of the gravity generators start up. Vegeta turned from the console to face Trunks. "Took you long enough."

"I just had to put something away," Trunks said lamely. It wasn't much of an excuse, but it seemed to satisfy Vegeta. Trunks frowned as the generators reached full power; though he'd long grown used to training under enhanced gravity, the force it was exerting on his body felt unusually powerful. His muscles strained as he grabbed one arm with the other, pulling it across his chest in a quick stretch. "Did you have to set the gravity so high?"

"It's only one-hundred G's," Vegeta said dismissively. "You could handle more than that as a child."

"Feels stronger," Trunks said, more to himself than to his father as he stretched out the other arm.

"Stop muttering and get in stance," Vegeta ordered, slipping into sparring form. "Or have you forgotten how to do that?"

"No, I haven't forgotten how to do that," Trunks said, mocking his father's tone. Still, he obeyed and took sparring form, mirroring the older Saiyan. "Let's get this over with."

Vegeta wasted no more words. Without further warning, he came at the teenager. Trunks dodged the first blow, then raised his left arm to block the second. An instant later, he felt his arm caught in his father's grip; before he could react, he found himself being flipped over his father's shoulder. He landed facedown on the metallic floor with a loud _clang_, shaking his head as he internally cursed his own reflexes.

Vegeta apparently had the same thought. "Your reaction time is usually better than that," he said flatly.

"So I'm a little rusty," Trunks grumbled as he pushed himself up and stood.

"Clearly," Vegeta said, rolling his eyes upward. "Let's try this again."

"Fine, whatever," Trunks said, again taking the proper stance. Once more, Vegeta ran toward him and struck first, and once more, Trunks quickly found himself on the defensive. He managed to hold the other man off for several seconds before he felt his legs kicked out from under him.

Trunks again fell to the floor, this time on his backside. "Okay," he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked up at his father. "Make that _really_ rusty."

"This is pitiful," Vegeta said, sneering down at the teenager. "You could perform better than this when you were eight."

"I didn't even _want_ to train," Trunks responded, returning his father's glare. "You're the one who dragged me in here."

"That's no excuse."

"Cut me a break. It's not like I got much sleep last night."

"What?" Vegeta's features instantly darkened as he stared down at his son. "Why didn't you sleep?

"Because I decided I needed a new hobby, and insomnia just seemed like so much fun."

"Lose the attitude," Vegeta barked out. "And I presume you haven't eaten yet, either."

Trunks frowned in reply to his father's question. "I forgot," he answered sincerely.

"You forgot," Vegeta repeated incredulously, raising one eyebrow at his son. "When was the last time you ate something?"

Trunks' expression fell into one of genuine thoughtfulness as he tried to recall when he'd last eaten. He'd spent the better part of the previous evening holed up in his room with the library books, and though he'd made sure Bra had gotten lunch that afternoon, he hadn't actually bothered to join her.

"Er, Friday night, I guess," Trunks said hesitantly, still seated on the floor before his father.

Vegeta's eyes widened before narrowing into their trademark glare. "Idiot." He walked over to the main console, quickly turning off the gravity generator before heading toward the exit. He turned back to Trunks as he opened the door to leave. "Go get some food and rest in your system," he ordered. "We'll pick this up later." With that, he stepped out of the chamber.

Trunks sighed, letting himself fall back onto the cool metallic floor. The Gravity Room's powerful overhead lamps were uncomfortably bright against his eyes as he stared up at the domed ceiling. Slowly, his eyes slipped shut.

* * *

><p><em>Trunks put one hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. The flight to Mount Paozu had been pleasant enough, but he was anxious to get started. Trunks had been itching to get some training in, and while he always had the Gravity Room at his disposal, he found that even the relatively spacious chamber couldn't match the freedom he had training out in the open fields of the countryside.<em>

_After a few moments of seeking, he caught sight of his friend leaning back against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. "Hey, Goten!" Trunks said, landing next to the other teenager. Goten looked up, acknowledging the older boy with a nod and a half-smile._

_Trunks raised an eyebrow at his friend, surprised at the uncharacteristically listless greeting. "Hey, are you okay?"_

_"Yeah, fine," Goten insisted, standing up straight. "Just a little tired is all."_

_Trunks rolled his eyes at his friend. "Come on, you didn't drag me all the way out here from West City just to wimp out on me." _

_Goten frowned at Trunks. "I didn't drag you anywhere. You're the one who called me."_

_"And you're the one who told me I could come over," came Trunks' retort. "So are we going to spar, or just stand around all afternoon?"_

_"Alright, alright, we'll spar."_

_"Damn straight," Trunks said with a smile, stepping into sparring form. Goten quickly mimicked him, mirroring the other demi-Saiyan's stance. Trunks narrowed his eyes at Goten, waiting for the other teen to make the first move._

_Several long moments passed in silence. Trunks narrowed his eyes at the other boy. "Well?"_

_"Right, right," Goten said, shaking his head. Another moment passed before he stepped forward, rushing several paces toward Trunks. Trunks lifted one arm to block the younger boy; within seconds, he'd knocked Goten to the ground._

_Trunks reached one hand down, gesturing for Goten to take it. "That was sloppy for you."_

_"No kidding," Goten said, using Trunks' outstretched hand to pull himself back up. He stepped back, once again taking sparring form as Trunks did the same. _

_Trunks didn't wait for Goten to strike first, instead rushing the other teenager. Goten hastily blocked the blow, taking several steps backwards as he tried to regain his balance. Only a few seconds passed before Goten once more found himself knocked off his feet._

_Trunks folded his arms as he stood over Goten. "What is _wrong _with you today?"_

_"Guess I'm just not up to my usual standards," Goten said with a shrug._

_"You're not up to my _sister's_ usual standards."_

_"Hah," Goten said, pushing himself off the ground. "Maybe we should call it a day for now."_

_"Come on, I haven't even broken a sweat yet. Let's at least get one more round in."_

_"I'm not sure . . ."_

_Trunks almost laughed at the half-pout on Goten's face. "Just one more," he said. "It won't take more than a minute, at this rate."_

_"Fine, fine." Goten's face twisted in discomfort before he nodded and slipped back into sparring form. Again, Trunks took the offensive, and again, Goten only managed to block a few blows before being floored._

_Trunks again reached down to help his friend up. "Oh, come on, you weren't even trying."_

_Goten shook his head. "I actually was," he said, his voice strangely soft as he stared at the ground next to his feet._

_Trunks folded his arms and furrowed his brow at the younger boy. "I should've stayed in West City. What the hell did I fly out here for?"_

_Goten continued to stare down at the ground, ignoring his friend's remark. Another stretch of silence passed before he spoke. "Trunks?" Goten's voice sounded faint, almost distant._

_"What?"_

_Goten swallowed before speaking again. "I don't feel good." _

_"Oh, quit whin—" The mocking words died on Trunks' lips as he saw Goten cross his arms in front of his chest. The look of annoyance on his face quickly became one of concern. "Goten? What's wrong?"_

_Trunks knew he should have reacted more quickly. He understood, rationally, that he should have moved before Goten hit the grass. He knew, intellectually, that he should do more than watch as Goten began to twitch and spasm on the ground._

_He couldn't actually recall picking up his violently convulsing friend and carrying him toward the small house at the end of the clearing. But he could feel Goten burning up in his arms, seizing up and gasping as sweat beaded across his forehead._

_Everything else was a blur._

* * *

><p>"Hello? Earth to Trunks?" Trunks' eyes snapped open. His vision cleared, revealing Goten floating above him as he lay on the Gravity Room floor.<p>

"What?" Trunks asked, sitting up.

"Trunks, your dad walked out of here five minutes ago. What have you been _doing_ in here?"

"Nothing," Trunks insisted, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Goten reached one hand down, as if to help Trunks up from his spot on the floor. Trunks merely raised on eyebrow at him; Goten's own eyebrows shot up toward his hairline as he apparently remembered why Trunks couldn't take his hand. He pulled his hand back, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Oh yeah, right."

"Yeah," Trunks said, pushing himself up off the floor. "Come on, let's get out of here while it's still early."

"Where do you want to go?" Goten asked, following Trunks out of the gravity chamber.

"First, we head back to the library and drop of those books."

"And then?"

"Then," Trunks said, turning back toward his ghostly counterpart, "we go find ourselves an expert." Without further explanation, he retrieved his backpack, stepped outside, and began walking his way toward downtown West City.


	4. Chapter 4

Trunks trekked up the creaky wooden stairs, Goten floating in tow behind him. It was already late in the afternoon, and Trunks had had a frustrating day. After returning his stack of books on ghosts and poltergeists to the library—something that earned him more than one judgmental stare from the circulation desk—Trunks had spent the better part of the day seeking out an available psychic. The problem wasn't a dearth of professional psychics in West City; the issue, Trunks had been surprised to find, was that most were booked up solid with appointments for the entire day.

Some time after his twelfth unsuccessful phone call, Trunks had slammed down the telephone and angrily flipped the phone book shut. "How many gullible idiots _are there_ in this city?" Trunks had complained.

Goten had shrugged in reply. "We want an appointment, too. Does that make us gullible idiots?"

"It's different with me," Trunks had insisted. "I'm actually being haunted by a ghost."

"Well," Goten had said, "maybe they're all being followed around by ghosts, too. It's not like you'd know." To which Trunks had replied by glaring at his incorporeal friend before—much to Goten's chagrin—hurling the phone book at Goten's head and straight through the ghost's body.

It had taken several more phone calls before Trunks was able to secure an appointment with Madame Maru's Mansion of Mysteries. Which was what brought him here, to a third-story walk-up shop in the rough part of town, as Sunday afternoon began to wind down. Trunks knocks on the obnoxiously alliterative storefront's door and waited for an answer. The flimsy doorframe rattled before a thin, grey-haired woman dressed in richly colored scarves and mounds of bronze jewelry opened the door.

"Hi," Trunk said as the door opened, "I'm—"

"Shh!" the woman said, raising one hand to cut off the teenager. "I sense you are the one called Trunks."

Trunks' face fell. "Wow, that's amazing," he deadpanned. "You'd almost think I gave you my name when I booked my appointment."

The woman slowly blinked her heavily made-up eyes, as though she were having trouble processing Trunks' sarcastic reply. "I sense you are a skeptic," she said, her voice high-pitched and airy. "Let us see if we cannot change that. Enter, my child." With that, the woman moved aside, gesturing for Trunks to step into the building. Trunks rolled his eyes, but stepped into the dimly lit room, Goten floating in after him. Trunks was immediately hit with the overpowering scent of dozens of burning incense cones, and promptly let out a loud sneeze.

"Yes, my child," Madame Maru said approvingly. "Let the negative energy escape you."

Trunks frowned at her as he rubbed his nose. "I'm more concerned with letting all my nasal mucus escape me. Can we get started?"

Madame Maru gestured toward the candle-lit table in the center of the room. Trunks took one seat, while the self-professed psychic sat across from him. Goten hung back, watching from one corner of the room.

"My child," she repeated, "I sense you have a need to contact the spirit world."

"C'mon, Trunks," Goten said from his spot in the corner. "Why don't we talk to a _real_ fortune teller? That Baba lady?"

"I have my reasons," Trunks replied.

"I'm sure you do," Madame Maru said, placing her palms upon the tabletop and closing her eyes. "Now, let us begin. Speak the name of ghostly presence haunting your mind."

Trunks rolled his eyes but complied. "Goten."

"Yeah?" Goten asked.

"I'm just saying your name like she asked," Trunks grumbled.

"No, my child, you cannot speak to him directly!" the woman insisted, her eyes snapping open. "I sense a ghostly presence, but you must not disturb our connection to the spirit world."

"I'm not even _in_ the spirit world," Goten complained. "That's the problem."

"_I know that_," Trunks hissed in reply.

"Then calm yourself and wait." She closed her eyes again, humming under her breath. "Oh great spirits, I call upon your mystic power, bring me the one called Goten!"

Goten chuckled as he floated over toward the table. "Here I am!"

"Would you _please shut up?!_" Trunks yelled, knocking over his chair as he quickly stood.

Madame Maru's eyes again snapped open. "The otherworld is a very real place, my child."

"Well, of course it is," Trunks said, folding his arms and glowering at the woman. "But you obviously have no clue what you're doing."

The psychic sighed. "My child—"

"_Stop calling me that_," Trunks spat out. "Just tell me how much I owe you so I can get out of here."

"Trunks," the woman said, dropping the feigned airiness in her voice, "you must let go of your anger."

"Lady," Trunks began indignantly, "all you've done is waste my time—"

"Not your anger at me. Your anger at yourself."

Trunks narrowed his gaze at her. "Why the hell would I be angry at _myself?_"

She drummed her fingernails against the table, her features genuinely pensive. "Whatever has happened, you must forgive yourself."

Trunks swallowed loudly, trying to ignore the sudden nausea that he felt. "You . . ." Trunks trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. Several long moments passed as he stared down the psychic, while Goten flipped his gaze between the two of them.

"Trunks?" Goten asked after a few more moments' silence. "Are you okay?"

Trunks closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. "Lady, you have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice once again strong and level. Before she could respond, Trunks pulled out his wallet and slammed a ten-thousand zeni note on the table. "Keep the change." With that, he stormed out of the small shop, Goten making his way out behind him.

"That was a fucking waste of time." Trunks began to stomp his way down the stairs, his heart pounding in his ears.

Goten nodded as he floated alongside Trunks down the stairs. "I'm pretty sure she didn't even know I was there."

"These idiots are completely full of shit. I don't know how they stay in business."

"Yeah," Goten agreed. "And what was that junk about forgiving yourself?"

"Doesn't know what the hell she's talking about," Trunk grumbled, more to himself than to Goten as he stepped out into the street. "She's just throwing shit against the wall and seeing what sticks." He made a sharp right turn to make his way home, only to find himself temporarily blinded by the brilliant, red-orange sun. Trunks stopped in his tracks, lifting one hand to his face to shield his eyes from the painfully bright sunset.

Trunks swallowed, trying to relieve the sudden dryness in his mouth. _Sunset_. A shiver ran up Trunks' spine as he squinted, peering off toward the horizon as he stood in the middle of the sidewalk. His vision began to blur; the sound of his heart pounding grew louder in his eyes.

He vaguely heard a voice saying his name. He turned his head away from the setting sun, toward Goten's ghost.

"Huh?" Trunks breathed out. "Did you say something?"

"Yeah," the apparition said, frowning. "You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been standing there for, like, two minutes."

Trunks looked Goten up and down. For the first time since the ghost's arrival two days earlier, he really studied its appearance. If Goten really was a hallucination, Trunks mused, his mind was doing a truly remarkable job recreating his best friend's every feature in perfect detail.

"Four weeks," Trunks said in reply.

"What?"

"It's been four weeks."

"Since what?"

Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You. Moron."

"Oh yeah, that." Goten began rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Exactly?"

"Give or take a few minutes. Days are getting shorter," Trunks explained. "But yeah, it was sunset."

"I, uh, wouldn't know," Goten said. Trunks watched for another few moments as Goten continued to rub at the back of his neck, an awkward and uncomfortable expression on his face. Trunks shook his head; his mind wasn't only doing an astonishingly good job reconstructing his friend's appearance, but was quite admirably recreating the dead teenager's mannerisms and expressions as well.

"We'd better be getting home," Trunks finally said. With that, he turned away from the ghost, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began the walk back toward Capsule Corporation.

* * *

><p>Unlike most of his classmates, Trunks did not, in fact, despise Mondays. Perhaps it was because even his most advanced classes rarely posed a challenge for him, or perhaps it was that school was the one refuge he'd had lately from his mother's concerned and watchful eye, but he simply didn't feel the same dread toward Monday morning that the average teenager did.<p>

But there were some Monday mornings that made it painfully, inescapably clear that Trunks would be facing a difficult week. Such mornings could usually be encapsulated in a single phrase, such as: "Trunks, I'm going out of town on business this week and need you to watch your sister after school"; or "Boy, make sure to go straight to the gravity room when you get home, you're starting a new training regimen"; or "Please pick a partner for your group lab assignments, due on Friday."

Or on this, the particular Monday in question: "Bra, what the hell are you doing in my closet?"

The three-year-old smiled up at her brother from her spot atop a pile of his clothes, seated in the middle of his large walk-in closet. "Makin' a fort!" she said, grinning.

"That's not a fort," Trunks said with an exasperated sigh. "It's a pile of laundry."

"Aww, give her a break," Goten said with a laugh. "It's not a bad fort for a toddler."

"It's not funny!" Trunks snapped at Goten.

"I wasn't laughing," Bra said, frowning up at her brother. "It's a very good fort."

"No, you're just being a bad girl."

Bra jutted out her lower lip before hurling a wrinkled shirt at Trunks' head. "You're mean!"

"Bra," Trunks practically whined, "will you _please_ get out of my closet so I can get ready?"

Bra shook her head, flopping back so she was lying down on the heap of clothing. "Tell me a bedtime story!"

"It's morning," Trunks replied flatly.

"Nope!" Bra said, closing her eyes and pulling one of Trunks' button-up shirts around her like a blanket. "Bedtime! Story time!"

"Bra—"

"Story time!" she insisted again, suppressing a giggle. "I'm so sleepy!"

"Then _get in your bed!_" Trunks said, trying to ignore the pounding headache developing behind his eyes. "I don't care where you go, just get out of my room!"

Bra opened her eyes, standing up and stepping out of the closet. She dusted herself off dramatically before folding her arms and staring up at her brother. "You," she said sternly, "aren't any fun anymore." With that, the child stormed out of the teenager's bedroom.

"God!" Trunks yelled, slamming his door the moment Bra left. "How did she turn into such a little brat?"

Goten snickered at that. "She must have learned from the best."

"Oh, fuck off," Trunks said, walking through Goten to step into his closet.

"Trunks," Goten said, all his earlier amusement leaving his tone, "please don't do that."

"Do what?" Trunks asked as he searched for a clean, unwrinkled shirt.

"Walk through me. It's creepy."

"You're a ghost, and _you're_ telling _me_ what's creepy?"

"I really don't like it," Goten complained. "It makes me feel . . . extra dead."

"You _are_ dead," Trunks said, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Yeah," Goten admitted, "but you don't have to keep reminding me about it."

"Because the incorporeality and the fact that I'm the only one that can see or hear you isn't enough of a reminder."

"You know what I mean," Goten huffed.

"Look, I'm still not convinced you're not just a very persistent hallucination."

Goten folded his arms and looked down toward the floor. "I'm not," he said quietly. "I don't know why you're the only one that can see me."

"We can talk about this later," Trunks said dismissively. "I'm running late as it is."

Goten frowned at the other boy. "Where are you going?"

"School, Goten. You know, the same place I go every Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And—"

"But I thought you were gonna help me!" Goten whined.

"I will, but sitting around the house all day won't solve anything. Besides, what am I supposed to tell my mom? 'Sorry, can't go to class to today, got the ghost of my dead best friend to babysit.'"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous."

"When I put it _any_ way, it sounds ridiculous!" Trunks said, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt and a baggy pair of jeans. "I need to get to school."

"So what am I supposed to do all day?"

"Watch TV? Read?"

"I can't touch anything," Goten said sadly. "You know that."

Trunks studied Goten for a few moments, contemplating his dead friend's dejected features. "Look," he offered, "if you promise to keep it quiet, you can come with me, alright?"

"Really?" Goten asked, his features brightening. "Great!"

"I mean it," Trunks said as he began to load up his backpack. "I can't have everyone seeing me talking to myself. You have to keep a lid on it."

"Yeah, of course," Goten promised. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen your high school before."

"No reason you would have," Trunks said, pulling out a box of copper wiring that he had pilfered from his mother's home laboratory the night before.

"It's just weird. This whole part of your life I don't know anything about."

"Why's that so weird?" Trunks asked, loading the wiring into his backpack. "Not like we were married or anything."

"I dunno. Do you even _have_ school friends? You never talk about them."

"I have school friends, Goten," Trunks said flatly.

"Name two."

Trunks looked up from his backpack, staring down Goten for several seconds before answering. "You've got to be a hallucination," he said, pulling on the straps of his backpack. "The real Goten could never outwit me."

"You're mean."

"No, I'm _right_," Trunks said, walking out his bedroom door and toward the stairs. "Now let's get out of here before my mom notices the missing wiring."

"Yeah," Goten replied, "I was gonna ask about that. What you planning on doing with that junk, anyway?"

Trunks gave the ghost a self-satisfied smile. "You'll see."

* * *

><p>Goten had quite dutifully remained quiet throughout most of Trunks' first four classes. He finally felt compelled to speak up when, as the school bell rang for lunch, he found Trunks making his way not to the cafeteria, but to the robotics classroom at the opposite end of the school.<p>

"Seriously," Goten said as Trunks began to press buttons on the electric lock securing the door to the classroom. "Aren't you going to go get lunch?"

"Better things to do," Trunks said as he pressed a few more buttons on the lock. Several moments later, he heard a small click and whir. He grinned as he pushed the now-unlocked door open and stepped into the empty classroom.

Goten frowned at Trunks. "Okay, how'd you do that?"

"This is what they get for using an old Altotech model," Trunks said, rolling his eyes at the inferior technology the school officials had decided to purchase. "They'd have been better off with an old-fashioned padlock." He closed the door behind him as he approached one of the large mechanical models at the front of the classroom. It resembled a rudimentary android, though it was clear that none of the wiring had been completed to make it mobile. He set down his backpack, pulling out the copper wiring he had swiped along with a few tools and a small, hand-printed diagram.

"What are you doing?" Goten asked, floating above Trunks as he began weaving the wiring through the robot's limbs.

"Rigging the dummy so it starts dancing halfway through sixth period," Trunks said, cutting another piece of wire of the coil. "Just a matter of getting the limbs wired up to this chip I brought in."

"_Why?_"

Trunks shrugged. "Mr. Danai is pretty boring. I figure this would help liven things up."

"Kind of a lot of work, isn't it?"

"Not really," Trunks said as he put the extra wiring back into his backpack. "I already made the chip, and the wiring's pretty simple." He zipped up his backpack, making his way toward the front door.

"You're already finished?" Goten asked.

"Please," Trunks scoffed. "Robotics is my best subject. I've been messing around with _way_ more advanced models in my mom's lab since I was six." He opened the classroom door, sliding into the hallway. "Mr. Danai is going to shit himself once he sees—"

"Once he sees _what_?" Trunks stopped short at this new voice, turning around to see another teenaged boy of about his height standing before him.

"Chui," Trunks greeted his classmate, his eyes narrowing. "Anything I can help you with?" While Trunks' words were cordial, his tone was anything but. Although, despite his earlier protestations to Goten, he hadn't become particularly close to any of the other students during his time at the Academy, he had a friendly enough relationship with most of his classmates.

Chui Hana was the exception.

"Why the hell were you in there?" Chui asked, folding his arms at the other teenager.

Trunks countered his classmate with a question of his own. "Why the hell would I tell you?"

"I wonder what Principal Taishin will have to say about your breaking into the robotics room."

"She'll probably appreciate the extracurricular initiative."

"No," Chui said, narrowing his brown eyes at Trunks, "what she'll appreciate is the next bribe from your rich mommy."

"Who _is_ this jerk?" Goten asked, shifting his gaze between Trunks and Chui.

"Not worth my time," Trunks answered. With that, he turned around, making his way down the otherwise empty hallway.

"I'll be the judge of that," Chui said, briskly walking up behind Trunks, grabbing his backpack.

Trunks' eyes flashed dangerously as he spun around. "Big mistake, Chui." He quickly disabled the other teen, effortlessly twisting the boy's arm behind his back.

"Get your hands _off of me!_" Chui yelled, tugging vainly at his right arm.

"You started it, asshole," Trunks said. "Now, why don't you apologize for trying to snatch my bag so we can both get on with our days?"

"I'll apologize with my foot up your ass!"

"Obviously you're unclear on the concept of an apology," Trunks said, squeezing Chui's arm tighter. "Allow me to explain it to you."

"Trunks," Goten cried out, "cut it out! You could really hurt him."

"Not my problem," Trunks grumbled.

"I'll _make it your problem!_" Chui yelled. "Now let me go!"

Before Trunks could reply, he heard a deep male voice shout from down the hallway. "Briefs! Hana!" Trunks turned to see a rail-thin, middle-aged man with graying hair approaching them.

"Mr. Danai," Trunks acknowledged his robotics teacher, finally releasing Chui from his grasp.

Chui cut in. "I can explain—"

"You can _both_ explain yourselves to the principal," the teacher said, folding his arms and glowering at the two teenagers. "Get going."

Chui began to protest. "But he—"

"_Now._" Mr. Danai snapped, pointing down the hallway. Trunks shrugged before beginning the walk down the familiar route to the principal's office, both Chui and Goten's ghost following close behind.

* * *

><p>Principal Taishin rubbed at her temples, staring flatly at the irate teenagers in her office. "Just tell me what happened so I can decide on an appropriate punishment and send you two back to class."<p>

"He started it!" Chui insisted, jutting one thumb at Trunks.

"I'm sorry, _who_ grabbed _whom_ in the hallway?" Trunks asked, rolling his eyes.

"You were wrecking the robotics lab!" Chui cried.

"And _you,_" Principal Taishin said, addressing Chui, "should have alerted a faculty member if you thought Mr. Briefs was up to something. I won't have students going around trying to police one another."

"Exactly," Trunks said smugly. "I was just defending myself."

"Oh, don't you start, Mr. Briefs," Ms. Taishin huffed out. "First of all, there's no excuse for getting into a scuffle in the middle of my school. Second, you know that you could have seriously hurt Mr. Hana here."

Chui let out a soft chuckle at that. "I am perfectly capable of defending myself from this brat, Ms. Taishin."

"So I take it you're not aware that Mr. Briefs is quite the skilled martial artist, then."

Trunks raised an eyebrow at his principal. "You know about that?"

"Trunks, I'm not an idiot. I _do_ keep files on my students. I know full well that you won the junior division of the global martial arts tournament several years ago."

The smug expression fell from Chui's face, replaced with one of genuine surprise as he turned to Trunks. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, back when I was eight," Trunks answered honestly.

"_Eight?_" Chui repeated incredulously, his eyes widening. He swallowed loudly, visibly trying to regain his composure. "Well, uh, I'm still not scared of you."

"No, you're too stupid to know what's good for you."

"Why you—"

"Quiet!" Ms. Taishin barked out, raising her voice for the first time since the two teenagers entered her office. "I have no interest in listening to your squabbles. My point is, I will not have students fighting in the hallways, _whatever the reason_." She frowned at the boys sitting in front of her. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," the teenagers said in unison.

"So what's the punishment, Lil—Principal Taishin?" Trunks asked.

"Well, it's clear enough to me that you don't actually have much of an aversion to detention, Mr. Briefs. And Mr. Hana, you seem to have an inordinate degree of interest in Mr. Briefs' robotics projects." Ms. Taishin hummed to herself as she pulled up the teenagers' schedules on her computer screen. "And as luck would have it, this happens to be lab week in your sixth period robotics class."

"Oh no," Trunks murmured. He could see where this was going.

"I'll inform Mr. Danai that you two are to be paired together for lab this week," the principal said with a knowing smile. "And if you two get anything less than a 95% on your lab assignment at the end of the week, you'll just have to do a make-up assignment together over the weekend."

"But, Principal!" Chui cried out. "I don't see how my being concerned for this school's well-being means Briefs should be able to compromise my grade."

"_Your_ grade?" Trunks scoffed. "I'm the one being saddled with an inferior intellect here."

Chui sputtered. "Inferior—"

"Both of you, enough!" Ms. Taishin snapped, slamming one hand down onto her desk. "You're both excellent students, so as long as you keep the petty fighting to a minimum, you'll make it through the week unscathed. But I had better not hear one word about your misbehavior from Mr. Danai. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chui and Trunks once again said in unison. Chui stood from his chair first and walked out of the principal's office. Trunks followed after, finding Goten floating in the same spot where he'd left the ghost several minutes earlier.

"So what happened?" Goten asked, following after Trunks as he began to make his way toward his history classroom.

"I'm paired up with that asshole for robotics lab all week," Trunks answered.

"Huh," Goten said. "Well, that's better than detention, right?"

Trunks stopped in the hallway, folding his arms and glowering at Goten. "If I don't make it through this week," he said icily, "I'm blaming you."


End file.
